Waking Up New
by TheHaloFreak
Summary: **SPOILERS FOR ALLEGIANT** Waking up without memories from David's point of view and the guilt he should feel. ONESHOT


**Howdy!**

**So this contains spoilers for Allegiant.**

**The ending really freaking upset me so I decided to write this. It's from David's POV.**

**Also just FYI this will probably be the last bit of fanfiction I write for a while seeing as my crazy sister has convinced me to do National Novel Writing Month, which for all who don't know is a writing challenge which takes place in November, the object of which is to write 50,000 word in 30 days. I am going to die. Whish me luck.**

**Please review if you like this or if the ending upset you.**

**Also I own nothing.**

My eyes open and I am in a room. I shake my head slightly to clear my vision and look around. The floors of the room are a glossy tiled white, the walls appear to be made of a similar material only darker, and there are shelves. The word "laboratory" and "storage" come to my mind but I'm not sure why. I look done at my legs and feel a jolt of surprise to see that I am in a wheel chair, when I try to remember why nothing comes to mind. In fact when I try to remember anything about myself nothing comes to mind.

I get the feeling I should be alarmed by this but all I feel is vaguely confused. It is a strange thing that someone should forget everything about themselves, or is it?

As I'm pondering this I notice the floor, covered in pools of red. Blood. I feel a panicky kind of sickness bubbling inside me as my eyes follow the blood to its owner. A girl is lying on the ground, unmoving. Without really knowing how I fling myself from the chair toward the girl, I am briefly aware of the sound of something metallic hitting the floor, but I'm too busy looking at the girl to see what it was.

I freeze when I see her face. She has short blond hair, with pieces wildly spread across her face. She has a nose that could be called too large for her face, and she can't be more than 18(how I this is a mystery) but that's not what grabs my attention; it's her eyes. Big blue eyes that stare glassily at something I can't see, will never see. Her expression is not one of pain or fright, but one of relief.

I reach a shaky hand out to check for a pulse that I know won't be there. And then the door opens.

I must have killed her. I haven't told anyone that it was me, but it must have been.

When the people helped me back into my wheelchair I saw what had fallen from my hand, a gun. It must have been me, I had a gun and we were the only two people in that room.

Why I was there I don't know, the people who didn't have their memories wiped didn't say. It doesn't make sense how some of us were spared but I guess it doesn't matter to me. It might have matter to the old me, the me before the reset, but I don't care what mattered to him because I know he killed her. I killed her.

I think the people who remember knew her. I notice them sometimes giving me looks of loathing, especially Caleb and Christina. I wish I could tell them it wasn't me, that they've got it all wrong, but I know there's no point. It was me. I killed her.

I found out her name was Tris, but I don't want to know anymore. I don't want to know about the life I must have taken away.

Today I am supposed to sign a paper so the doctors can take some kid off life support. As the leader, most likely soon to be former leader, of this compound it is my job to sign. All that the paper says is that the doctors did all they could and he won't get better. I don't know if the doctors have really done all they could, I can't remember, but it's just a formality anyway. They've assured me that this Uriah is nothing more than meat on the table at this point but I still don't relish ending a life. Like how I ended that girls.

On my way out of the room I am confronted with a young man. He lunges at me and is held back by what can only be his mothers. Those around him say something but I am too startled and confused to hear what it was. I look at him, trying to understand, he looks haggard and exhausted, not just physically but mentally.

It's not until I'm out of the room that I understand. He must have known her. Maybe he even loved her, and he knows that it was me who killed her. Me that took her away from him.

Suddenly I'm filled with hatred. Not for that boy but for myself, the one I used to be. All of his life, his happy moments, his joys, _my _joys, have been taken from me and all he leaves me with his the knowledge of his last deed. His final killing act. I know I probably don't hate him as much as that boy, but it's got to be close.

No matter what I do I will have to live with the knowledge that I used to be, maybe still am, the type of person who would shoot a young girl. And I don't know if I am strong enough to do that.


End file.
